<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Maybe I Owe Everything by neglectedtuesday</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25184680">Maybe I Owe Everything</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/neglectedtuesday/pseuds/neglectedtuesday'>neglectedtuesday</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, F/F, Minor Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Buried Daisy, Rope Bondage, Season/Series 04, Shibari, Spanking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:48:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25184680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/neglectedtuesday/pseuds/neglectedtuesday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy wasn’t sure about rope bondage when Basira first suggested it. She feared it would recreate the pressure of the Buried, that being unable to move would only add to her anxiety rather than soothe it. But she knew that Basira would have done detailed, lengthy research and wouldn’t have suggested it if she genuinely didn’t think it would help.</p><p>Daisy trusts Basira. Utterly and completely. She’s the only person Daisy would be this open for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Maybe I Owe Everything</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axella779/gifts">Axella779</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For my friend, because she requested it. For friends who did not request it by extension because who else would I write TMA fanfic for.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They don’t do this often. Rarely find the time, given that Elias has Basira chasing leads more often than not, and Daisy knows it’s Elias despite Basira changing the subject every time it’s brought up. Daisy’s learned to manage without, has found a facsimile of a coping mechanism in Melanie or Jon’s company. </p><p>They understand, though in different ways. Melanie knows rage, knows the grind of teeth and the thumping of blood. Jon knows consumption, thoroughly understands what it’s like to chase something you may never catch and love the thrill of it anyway. When the desire gets too much, when the animal inside Daisy begins to crawl up her throat, claws gutting her from the inside out, she seeks out their company. Listens to the lull of their voices, the click of the kettle, the water rushing through ancient pipes. </p><p>It’s not always enough. </p><p>But sometimes Basira is around when the thrum in Daisy’s blood is too loud to ignore. </p><p>Basira’s hand is stroking through Daisy’s hair. After she emerged from the Buried, Daisy had shaved her head. It was easier to wash, easier to keep clean, no particles of dirt trickling down her spine. It’s grown out a little since then, a shaggy pixie cut that will soon delve into mullet territory but it’s not like Daisy can go to a hairdresser. </p><p>The stroking is nice, gives Daisy a sensory input she can focus on. Basira has nice hands. Steady hands.The kind of hands that don’t shake when holding a gun. The kind of hands who know how to knead dough and flick through documents and play with Daisy’s hair in just the right way. The repetitive motion allows Daisy to float a little, get her breathing slowed down and her heartbeat steady. Only then will Basira move onto the next part of this. </p><p>“Are you ready?” Basira asks. That’s another sound for Daisy to focus on, the rich timber of Basira’s voice. </p><p>“Yeah,” Daisy replies because it’s all she feels she can manage. She’s calmer now but the buzz beneath her skull is far from gone. Her skin is still warm from the bath she took to stretch her muscles, but the anticipation of what’s about to happen makes heat bloom inside her chest.</p><p>Basira leaves the bed but she doesn’t go far. She comes back with the rope, unwinding it slowly. The website described the colour as ‘blushing pink’. Basira, in a quiet moment, had made a joke that the only time Daisy ever has a blush on her skin is when she’s tied up. Daisy had pushed at Basira’s arm but had been secretly pleased that they could still make jokes like that. That despite Basira’s distance, they could still have quiet moments. </p><p>Daisy wasn’t sure about rope bondage when Basira first suggested it. She feared it would recreate the pressure of the Buried, that being unable to move would only add to her anxiety rather than soothe it. But she knew that Basira would have done detailed, lengthy research and wouldn’t have suggested it if she genuinely didn’t think it would help.</p><p>Daisy trusts Basira. Utterly and completely. She’s the only person Daisy would be this open for. </p><p>They started small, a simple binding of Daisy’s arms behind her back. It wasn’t claustrophobic like Daisy feared. She wasn’t being compressed, more like she was being held in place. Basira had then guided Daisy’s mouth down, telling her to get to work. The frustration about not being able to use her hands only made it better. She made Basira scream that night, an impressive feat given how quiet Basira usually is in bed. The bloodlust inside her was thoroughly replaced with the visceral satisfaction of watching Basira fall apart, thighs shaking and mouth slack. It didn’t take long for Daisy to come afterwards, Basira’s fingers getting her off while praise was murmured against her sweat slick skin. </p><p>“I want to try a new design,” Basira says, bringing Daisy back to the present. Daisy nods. Any design is fine with her as long as she’s restrained but she knows that Basira likes the aesthetics of it. Basira trails the end of the rope along Daisy’s forearm. It’s made of bamboo and is probably the softest thing Daisy has ever had against her skin. </p><p>Daisy sits up to allow Basira to drape two lengths of rope around her neck. Basira begins to weave the strands into a diamond shape, looping around Daisy’s breasts, around her back and over her shoulders. Basira murmurs praise as she loops the ropes back up to thread through the four strands near Daisy’s collarbone. Daisy would never admit it aloud but the praise makes her blood sing, the quiet reassurances that she’s doing well, that she’s good. </p><p>Daisy lets out a soft exhale as the rope is wound around her back. Her chest and sternum are a crisscross of diamond patterns. Basira places a brief kiss to the hollow of Daisy’s throat. Daisy shudders, the motion emphasising how the ropes are holding her in. How she’s contained by blushing pink. </p><p>Basira trails the ropes down Daisy’s belly, smirking when Daisy bites her bottom lip. </p><p>“Don’t,” Daisy mutters. Basira uses a finger to tilt Daisy’s head up.</p><p>“You forget who’s in charge here,” Basira says, voice low and quiet. With any other girl, Daisy would say something cocky now. Something dismissive or emotionally unavailable. Not with Basira. Not here.</p><p>Basira kisses Daisy like she’s something to be savoured. It’s slow, maddeningly so and Daisy moans, hoping Basira will lick into Daisy’s mouth. Basira nips at Daisy’s bottom lip instead, pulling back. </p><p>“We’re not done yet.”</p><p>Basira feeds the rope under Daisy’s crotch and around the vee of Daisy’s hips before weaving it up through the chest ropes. Daisy blinks, her mouth parted. Arousal pools in her gut. The rope is looped around Daisy’s thighs and then tied off. Basira kisses Daisy again, tracing along her folds and smiling when Daisy gasps. </p><p>Basira guides Daisy onto her back. She splays a hand over the diamond pattern, tilting her head to the left. Daisy moves her arms up, bending her back so the ropes pull a little tauter. Basira bends down, taking one of Daisy’s nipples into her mouth. Daisy moans, gripping the slatted headboard. Basira rolls the other nipple between her fingers. Daisy’s thighs twitch and she becomes aware of how wet she is. </p><p>“Fuck,” Daisy pants when Basira leans back up. </p><p>“Later, if you’re good.”</p><p>Daisy snorts. “Don’t tease.”</p><p>“That’s all you want me to do.”</p><p>Basira gently prises Daisy’s fingers from the headboard. She brings Daisy’s right hand up to her mouth to press a reassuring kiss to Daisy’s palm. Daisy wants to look away, deny the hot flush of arousal that comes from such a simple gesture. Basira gives her affection in such an effortless way, as if sweetness is something Daisy deserves. </p><p>Basira lets go of Daisy’s hands to start binding her legs. Nothing fancy, just a simple spiral leg tie which binds Daisy’s thigh and calf together. Daisy flexes her leg muscles, allowing herself a small smile when they press against the rope. Basira then helps Daisy turn onto her front. Daisy leans on her forearms, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Basira runs her fingers down Daisy’s back, a light, teasing touch. </p><p>“Remember not to bite your lip,” Basira says.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“These are new sheets, I’d prefer not to have blood on them.”</p><p>“I <em>know</em>.”</p><p>Daisy gets a warning tap for that, more sound than impact. It still makes her gasp. </p><p>“How many do you think you deserve?” Basira asks. </p><p>“Thirty.”</p><p>“Daisy.”</p><p>“I can take it.”</p><p>Daisy can hear Basira rolling her eyes. </p><p>“I know you can take it, I’m asking what you think you deserve?”</p><p>“Twenty-five,” Daisy responds. It’s a compromise. Sort of. </p><p>“Alright. I want you to count for me. If you lose count, we’ll stop until you remember the right number.”</p><p>Basira strokes Daisy’s thigh before pulling back to give a stinging blow. </p><p>“One,” Daisy says, skin tingling from the impact. Basira brings her hand down again in the same place, a little harder. “Two.”</p><p>The next three are slow and measured, warming up Daisy’s skin and ending with a gentle caress over Daisy’s hip. Daisy shivers, her nerves singing. She’s not quite floating yet but she’s getting there. </p><p>Basira palms at the curve of Daisy’s cheeks, digging her fingers in, getting Daisy to moan loudly. After that Basira doesn’t hold back. Hard and fast, the blows send sparks up Daisy’s spine as she swears in between counting. Daisy knows her skin must be red now, certainly warm to the touch. She’s sensitive all over, it probably wouldn't take much more before she’s coming. </p><p>At twenty, Basira stops. She rubs soothing circles over the stinging flesh, presses a few kisses to the base of Daisy’s spine. Daisy whines, her body shaking. </p><p>“Just five more,” Basira murmurs, “you’ve done so well, you can keep being good for me right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Daisy pants, “I can be good.”</p><p>Basira smiles against Daisy’s back. “I know you can.”</p><p>Daisy pushes back into Basira’s hand. Basira doesn’t do anything for a minute, letting the anticipation build. Daisy tries to keep as still as she can, her muscles quivering. Twenty-one, twenty-two and twenty-three are across Daisy’s thighs, the sound loud in Daisy’s ears. She lets her head drop forward, hair plastered to her forehead. Twenty-four makes Daisy rock forward. She wishes she had something to grind against.</p><p>“Please,” Daisy whines, “Basira, please.”</p><p>“Just one more,” Basira says, both a fact and a promise. Her voice curls around Daisy’s brain, comforting and warm.</p><p>The last strike is the hardest Basira has hit her all night. Pleasure-pain spreads throughout Daisy’s nervous system, her entire body on fire. It’s perfect. Basira massages where the skin is reddest, murmuring nonsense praise as Daisy shivers and whines. Every touch sends tingles throughout her body, makes her throb with need. </p><p>“Can I come? Please, I want to come.” Daisy’s voice sounds strained to her own ears, desperate and breathy. </p><p>“Of course,” Basira says, sliding her hand down. She plays with Daisy’s clit, knowing exactly how Daisy likes to be touched. Daisy feels herself tighten and then she’s coming, moaning Basira’s name. </p><p>Time becomes difficult to keep track of after that. Basira keeps murmuring praise as she unwinds the rope and though Daisy only catches a few phrases, the words make her feel loved and safe and calm. Basira runs a warm cloth over Daisy’s skin, wiping away the sweat. The sound of a water bottle being cracked open reminds Daisy how thirsty she is. She allows Basira to tilt her head up, the water cool and fresh, soothing her ragged throat.</p><p>Daisy lets herself melt into the sheets, looking up at Basira from half-closed eyes. Basira is warming the massage oil between her fingers.</p><p>“How do you feel?”</p><p>“Like I don’t have a spine anymore. S’good feeling.”</p><p>Basira hums, pulling Daisy’s left leg into her lap so she can massage the muscles. She’s rubbing away the sting, helping Daisy to come back into her body. Daisy winces a little, echoes of pain tingling under Basira’s hands. </p><p>Basira massages oil into Daisy’s entire body, lingering over particularly sore areas with those steady hands. Then they rearrange themselves so that Daisy’s head is in Basira’s lap. Basira starts playing with Daisy’s sweaty hair, twirling it around her fingers. It’s more playful than earlier but no less gentle. </p><p>“Did you want?” Daisy makes a gesture to imply all sorts of things.</p><p>“Not now. Later, if you’re up for it.”</p><p>“I’m always up for it.”</p><p>Basira snorts. “Alright, simmer down.”</p><p>Daisy wiggles around so she can look at Basira’s face. Basira has a wry smile, an indulgent smile. Daisy has always been a straightforward person, never saw much use in not being clear about how she’s feeling or what she needs. She’s also not the most articulate person, could never express how she feels in a way that would win any literary prizes. She’s considered asking Blackwood, but he’s more unfriendly than when they first met and besides, it’s not really her style.</p><p>“I miss you,” she says. <em>I love you</em> she implies.</p><p>“I’ll always come back to you,” Basira responds. <em>I love you</em> she implies.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>